


Fantasy, Bookshops and Ink

by Kitkatkimble



Series: Not Just Letters and Syllables [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Books, Gen, Jason is swimming in a river in Egypt, M/M, Wordsmith AU, and Nico really isn't any better, gratuitous fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 12:49:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitkatkimble/pseuds/Kitkatkimble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short dissertation on the gravitational pull of a) bookshops, b) the fantasy section of aforementioned bookshops, and c) short, skinny Italians, on the subject Jason Grace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fantasy, Bookshops and Ink

Jason Grace is many things, but he is not stupid. He is blond, and muscular, and does not understand things like priorities, but none of these give licence to call him stupid. It is for this particular reason that he gets a little bit (okay a significantly large bit) irritated when people assume that he has the approximate intelligence of a concussed warthog.

It happens a lot more than he’d like, although it’s not like there’s much he can do about it. People carry around preconceived stereotypes like dogs carry around collars; they are there constantly, everyone thinks they’re necessary, and no one stops to think, ‘Hey, who thought this was a good idea in the first place?’

Not that Jason thinks dog collars are unnecessary. Okay, a little bit. If you can’t recognise your dog among others then you’re clearly not a great owner.

Yes, Jason likes dogs. Sue him.

Anyway, one place where he always gets the Look of Dumb is bookshops. The storekeepers and assistants take one look at him and go, ‘The sports magazines are over there’, and it’s really, really irritating. He doesn’t read sports magazines. He wouldn’t read sports magazines even if you paid him and promised to put Percy Jackson into a really embarrassing situation and then put the video on YouTube. If he wants to buy shitty romance novels and Marvel comics and the full hardback set of Lord of the Rings then he will, and God help any bigoted shop assistant who tries to stop him.

So he’s a little bit wary and a little bit resigned when he wanders down to Sedha Books, a bookshop that has been in business for fifty thousand years and is well regarded as the best bookshop in the area. Jason goes there infrequently because of an incident hereafter referred to as the Shock Debacle, which we do not speak of. Ever.

He pushes the door open and it opens with a jingle. He’s always liked the sound of shop doorbells. It seems fitting, particularly for this bookshop; it’s old and musty and filled with books, which according to the owner have been sorted but Jason has yet to find the pattern.

There’s a short, skinny boy sitting on the cashier desk, reading a book. (Imagine that, someone reading a book in a bookshop.) He’s wearing a nametag, so he must be a worker, probably the one meant to be manning the counter he’s currently sitting on. Black jeans, black shirt, black hair. The guy’s a study in black. There’s a brown aviator jacket hung over the back of a wheelie chair, which breaks the monotony, but it still looks as though the kid’s been dumped in a vat of ink. 

He looks up when Jason enters, then back to the book. Jason’s actually a little surprised. Normally he gets dismissive glances, or surprised looks, or even appreciative stares, which are embarrassing but at least flattering. It’s weird, but he likes this new invisibility.

He browses around for a few minutes before giving up and going up to the shop assistant. He can’t figure out how the shop’s organised, but the people who work there have to know.

“Hey, sorry to bother you, but can you show me where the fantasy books are?” he asks, smiling in the comfortable knowledge that this makes him 200% more friendly and also 200% more undeniable.

The boy – Nici, his nametag says – looks up again and nods. “Of course.” He slides gracefully of the counter, puts his book down (The Murders in the Rue Morgue, by Edgar Allan Poe) and beckons Jason after him.

Nici winds his way through the shelves and piles of books until he makes an abrupt turn and Jason finds himself following him up a hidden staircase. “No one remembers this is here,” Nici says. “I might put up labels later. I’ll probably do the whole shop; you know how hard it is to find things.”

“Yeah.” Jason doesn’t know what else to say, but luckily they finish climbing the stairs and Nici gestures to a section of shelves down the back of the second floor.

“All the fantasy and adventure book are there. I think they’re alphabetical by author, but Persephone isn’t good at organising.” Nici rubs the back of his neck and looks up at Jason with a little smile. “I try, but…”

“No, it’s fine. It gives the place a more homey feeling, you know?” Jason grins. “Plus, I’ll bet you make more money from it. If it’s not organised people have to browse to find the book they want.”

Nici tilts his head. “I never thought of it that way.”

“Not just a dumb blond with a pretty face. Thanks, Nici.”

“It’s Nico, actually.” Nico scowls at his name tag. “The ‘i’ and ‘o’ just had to be next to each other.”

Jason winces. “Sorry, dude. Thanks, Nico.”

“No problem.”

Nico disappears back downstairs to the counter, leaving Jason to browse through more fantasy fiction than he has ever seen in his life. He’s always loved fantasy; in books, he is whoever the main character is. He’s not Jason Grace, he’s not the star student who got into college on a sport scholarship, he doesn’t have fifty million obligations and responsibilities on his shoulders. He’s free, he’s spirited, he can go from country to country, book to book, and never look back. It’s escapism of the highest form.

He eventually glances at his watch and notices that, shit, it’s already four o’clock and he’s due to go over and help plan a birthday party with some of his friends. So he stacks all of seven books into his arms, navigates his way down the stairs, and drops them onto the cashier counter with a smile.

“These, thanks,” he says, and Nico slides off to begin scanning them into the system. “What kind of stuff you do read?” Because if Nico works in a bookshop, it’s a safe bet that he’s willing to talk about books.

“Everything,” Nico admits, “but I prefer supernatural and fantasy. Some classics. A bit of mystery stuff if I’m in the mood. What about you? Just fantasy?”

“Pretty much,” Jason says. “I only really read anything else if it’s for class.”

“What’s your favourite?”

Somehow Jason finds himself wasting another twenty minutes discussing the differences between high fantasy and contemporary fantasy, but he doesn’t regret it in the slightest. Not once has Nico given him the Look of Dumb, although he does frown when Jason properly introduces himself.

“Are you the – ”

“The Shock Debacle guy, yeah.”

“My sister told me about that,” Nico says. “Did you really – ”

“Yeah, I really.” Jason gathers up his books and gives Nico a grin, if only to hide his embarrassment. “I’d better go. See you ‘round, Nico.”

Nico’s face falls, and he looks like he’s about to say something, before he just smiles and waves Jason out.

Jason doesn’t go back to Sedha Books for an entire week, and he’s actually very proud of his restraint. However, when Saturday rolls around, he finds himself wandering down to the musty old shop at nine o’clock in the morning, just as Nico is flipping the ‘closed’ sign to ‘open’.

Nico blinks at him and gives him a suspicious look. “You’re here early.”

Jason just shrugs. “Need a birthday present for a friend’s party tonight. Figure I should get it out of the way now.”

It’s true. Mostly.

“Alright.” Nico holds the door open for him. “Technically we’re open now, so I can’t stop you.”

“You’d want to?”

“Not really. You’re…” He trails off, and gestures randomly at Jason as if to say, ‘You’re all this.’

Jason raises an eyebrow, and Nico shakes his head, rubbing his eyes childishly. “It’s too early for this. I’m going to go do inventory. If you need anything…”

The offer hangs in the air and Nico takes off into the back room.

Jason just laughs and tries to think of an architecture book that Annabeth hasn’t already got. It’s a lot harder than it seems; Annabeth has a lot of books, and anything that’s popular or famous, she’s already got. He could always text Percy and ask him to confirm that she hasn’t got whatever Jason’s chosen, but it’s only nine and to Percy, nine am is something that happens to other people.

Jason ends up migrating back upstairs to the fantasy section after finding a book for Annabeth. Honestly, it’s like there’s a magnet up there and Jason is the metal. He’s already found another two books before he realises that he really should be leaving, but by that point there’s no hope.

Nico finds him up there when he comes up with a cardboard box filled with books. “We haven’t got any new books since last week, you know,” he says quietly but with a definite teasing overtone, and Jason honestly didn’t realise he was there before. 

He doesn’t jump. He doesn’t, really.

Nico chuckles and sets the box down. “Are you looking for anything?”

“Not really. Some days different things seem interesting.” Jason plucks a book out at random. “See, this one doesn’t look interesting today, but it might next week.”

“You go to bookshops every week?” Nico’s full on grinning now. “You nerd.”

Jason raises an eyebrow, looking at Nico. “You work in a bookshop.”

“Family business,” says Nico, and it looks like a bad topic of discussion judging by the sudden stiffening of his shoulders, so Jason quickly switches topic.

“Anyway, don’t tell me you don’t do the same thing.”

“I work in a bookshop.”

Nico’s intervention has had the added benefit of preventing Jason from browsing further, so when Nico goes downstairs Jason follows him and once again drops the books onto the counter and fishes for his wallet.

He’s just paying when the bell rings, and he glances over in idle curiousity before frowning.

“Hazel?”

“Jason?”

Nico looks between the two of them in surprise and confusion. “You know each other?”

Hazel comes further into the bookshop, taking out the hair tie confining her curly hair and letting it fluff out around her face. “Yeah, Jason’s one of my friends. We met in high school a bazillion years ago and ended up going to the same uni.”

Nico nods in understanding, but Jason’s still confused. Nico must have seen it in his face, as he says, “Hazel’s my sister.”

Comprehension dawns and Jason nods, deciding not to question the obvious differences in appearance and nationality. He knows Hazel’s from New Orleans, and he’s pretty sure Nico’s European, if not Italian then Maltan or some close relative, but it doesn’t really matter. Families are complicated. He should know.

Hazel and Nico have an easy, affectionate way of interacting that reminds Jason of himself and Thalia, although gentler and with less cheerful antagonism. Hazel teases Nico about his hair length, and Nico kisses her on the forehead and pushes her towards the military history section, and Jason laughs.

“I didn’t know you knew my sister,” Nico says, still smiling slightly.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Jason says. “Would you like to?”

“Would I like to what?”

Jason resists the urge to facepalm. He just wasted a good line on an oblivious subject. “Know more.”

Nico frowns in confusion then realisation strikes him, and he stiffens up noticeably. Jason backtracks. “I mean, you seem like a cool guy, and I’d like to be friends with you.” Yeah, good one, Grace.

Nico relaxes and after a moment, nods. “I suppose.” He pushes Jason’s bag of books towards him. “Feel free to… I don’t know, stop by for a chat or something.”

“I will,” Jason promises, and after calling out a ‘see you soon’ to Hazel, runs of to finish all of the things that he’s now put off by an hour. (Because Jason is a very focused, very smart man who understands nothing about things like priorities.)

He ends up sitting in Sedha Book at least every other day, balancing books on his head and drinking milkshakes out of coffee mugs. He reads as much as he talks to Nico, and sometimes helps him whenever there’s a particularly inordinate amount of heavy lifting to be done. He relaxes, lets his responsibilities go for a few hours a week, and just ends up having a good time with good company and good (but weird) drinks.

Nico is curious. He alternates between being kind and inquisitive when Jason is the only customer around, and polite but reserved when other people come up to him. His personal space extends to several feet around his body, and he always has a notebook on hand and a pen stuck behind his ear. At first Jason didn’t notice, because Nico’s shaggy hair hides anything and everything, but now he’s used to seeing Nico absentmindedly reach for it and jot something down.

That’s another odd thing about Nico. He’s always writing.

“What are you writing?” Jason asks one day, glancing towards the notebook.

Nico looks up. “Nothing,” he says hastily, shutting it and shoving it into the pocket of his jacket, which sits in its usual position over the back of the chair that honestly, Jason has never seen Nico sit in. The pen is tucked behind his ear.

“I won’t pry,” Jason says, raising his hands pacifyingly. “Just curious.”

Nico eyes him for a second then takes out the notebook again. “This part is a short story,” he says, holding up a significant portion of the notebook. “This is notes for a class one time I forgot my actual notebook. This is…private.”

Jason nods, accepting this. “What’s the short story about?”

Nico fidgets, and Jason once again finds himself saying, “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay. We could trade secrets.”

Nico looks up and raises an eyebrow. He does it far more elegantly than Jason does, and Jason knows because he spent four hours in front of a mirror practicing when he was twelve. “Trade secrets?”

“I’ll tell you about how I got this scar,” here Jason points to his lip, “if you tell me what the story’s about. Deal?”

“Deal.” They shake on it, and Jason launches into the story of the Stapler of Doom. It’s one he’s told a couple of times, because it is seriously funny and always a good ice breaker, so he knows exactly what to say to get Nico chuckling.

“At first I didn’t think you could really be the guy who did the Shock Debacle,” Nico admits, “but now I get it.”

“You mean you think I’m a total moron.”

“I don’t think that,” Nico says. “I just think that you should refrain from using technology before you hurt yourself.”

Jason waves him off. “I can’t even count the number of times I’ve been zapped by poking appliances with stuff. Pens, forks, I even managed to electrocute myself with a chisel one time in high school. I’m used to it. Now, do I get to hear about this story, or am I going to be kept in the dark for all eternity?”

Nico scowls at him, then fiddles with the notebook. “It’s about a girl who has to make a choice.”

Jason leans on the bench and fiddles with his milkshake-filled coffee mug. “Sounds interesting. Go on.”

So Nico tells him the story of the girl with the green hat, who must choose between family and freedom. In the beginning it’s light and amusing, but by the end Jason is sitting there, stunned.

“She dies?”

Nico nods, but offers no explanation.

“But what about her little brother?” Jason frowns, remembering the cheerful boy from the beginning of the story. “What’s Percival supposed to tell him?”

Nico shrugs, but for some reason he’s smiling, ever so slightly. “The truth.”

Jason sighs sadly. “Man, that’s really sad. I like Blanche, though. She’s very human, you know? Like, she’s got her strengths and weaknesses and she’s totally human. You write well.”

Nico doesn’t respond to that, other than a flattered smile and a top up for Jason’s milkshake-masquerading-as-coffee. (No, Jason will not get over that. It’s still funny.)

They’re well into their third month of their friendship when Jason enters the bookshop one day to see Nico arguing with a tall, dark haired man who looks a little similar. Neither of them spare Jason a glance when the bell rings, too intent on flinging words at each other with an almost corrosive need to hurt.

“It’s your fault!” Nico says angrily, jabbing a finger towards the stranger. “There’s nothing I can do about it, okay?”

The stranger folds his arms and glares down at Nico. “Learn to control it. I can’t have you causing accidents here, I have too much to deal with to fix your messes.”

“I wouldn’t be having them if you’d actually taught me something! Look, if you’re not going to help me deal with it, then tell me who can.” Nico is almost pleading. “You can’t tell me that you don’t know who, because I know you wanted Bianca to be trained properly.”

“You aren’t Bianca!”

“I know! But I’m still capable, whether you like it or not, so just tell me who can help me and then you won’t have to deal with my ‘messes’.”

The stranger glares down at Nico, who glares straight back, and Jason notices that their eyes are eerily similar. They might be related, although Jason has never heard Nico talk about his family; it could be for this reason.

“Very well.” The man digs in his coat and gives Nico a card. “Talk to William or Minos. Don’t let this happen again.”

He strides past Jason as though he isn’t even there, exiting the door with a slam and a sweep of his coat. Jason looks to Nico, who is left standing there clenching his fists sporadically.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and Nico looks up at him, finally registering his presence.

“I’m fine,” he says shortly, turning back to the cashier counter. Jason notices that the pen that is usually behind his ear is in one of his fists, and if Nico clenches any harder it’s probably going to snap.

“If you ever want to talk about anything, I’m here,” Jason says, and Nico blushes faintly and shakes his head.

“I’m fine,” he reiterates. Jason lets him be, moving upstairs to browse again.

Possibly twenty minutes later Nico joins him, eating chips from a McDonalds packet. He offers it to Jason, who takes a few and hastily puts the book down so he doesn’t get any grease on it. Nico doesn’t seem like a particularly mean tempered person, but he’d probably kill Jason if he ruined one of his books.

Nico fiddles with his pen, and Jason can see that he’s twisting the cap. It has a skull motif down one side, which isn’t creepy at all. (It is.)

“Can I tell you something?” Nico asks nervously.

Jason sits down on a stack of books and Nico follows him, sitting on the floor. “Of course.”

“You can’t tell anyone. Swear it.”

“I swear I won’t. You can trust me.”

Nico shifts and asks, “What do you know about wordsmiths?”

Jason doesn’t understand the question. He doesn’t know what a wordsmith is – so it’s safe to say he knows nothing about them – but he’s pretty sure it’s an archaic term for a writer, or something of the like. But Nico says it as though it’s something dark, something that people aren’t supposed to know about at all. Something that he hates, even, so Jason just says, “I have an open mind.” It sounds better than ‘I know nothing’, but it looks as though Nico knows exactly what he means.

Nico keeps fiddling with his pen. “A wordsmith is someone who can feel and use the power behind words. It’s… it’s not something that normal people can do.”

Jason doesn’t say anything, although his thoughts are speeding up. He lets Nico think about his words.

“My father gave me this pen when I was eleven,” he says, holding it up. It’s dark, an inky black only lightened by the silver skulls. “He said I would need it in the future. I couldn’t tell anyone and I couldn’t show anyone what it did, but I couldn’t go anywhere without it. If I left it somewhere I felt fractured, like there was something missing. So I pretended it was a normal pen, and for the most part, it is.”

Jason frowns. “What does it do?”

“It writes in shadows,” Nico says. He uncaps it, takes out his notebook, and begins to write something.

It looks as though the pen is writing in ink, but the words on the paper seem to suck in light like miniature black holes. Jason can’t tear his eyes away, and a name forms under Nico’s grip; he can’t read it, can’t fix his eyes on the letters.

“This man has just died,” Nico says, and his voice is dark and filled with something Jason can’t quite put his finger on. “That’s what I do. Each time I touch the pen, I see people who die, people who want their names to be remembered. It does other things, but that’s what the notebook is for.”

“Like Death Note,” Jason says, and Nico gives him an odd look. “Never mind. Does it only happen when you touch the pen?”

“It’s a constant thing.” Nico looks down at his hands, glaring at them. “If they’re someone I know, it’s worse. I write their entire stories; I write how they died. And I can’t control it. Sometimes I find myself writing about people I don’t know as though I was them; I wake up in the middle of the night and my hand is on the pen and I’ve been sleep recording. I write certain words, and I find myself in a different place, or in a cemetery, or talking to people who I know can’t be alive.”

“And you call that wordsmithing?”

“I don’t know. I just know that people who can do things like this are called wordsmiths, because Father told me and my sister when we were little. He said it was in our blood.” Nico gestures around. “He runs this bookshop. He runs a lot of bookshops. I think… I think he draws power from the words.”

Jason thinks about all of this for a good five minutes, before realising that Nico is slowly inching towards the stairs; in case he has to make a run for it, Jason thinks, and feels his heart sink as he realises that Nico doesn’t trust him to stick by him.

“I believe you,” Jason says, slowly and surely, to make sure Nico understands. “Nico. I believe you. I won’t tell anyone.”

Nico stares at him, nods, and disappears downstairs without another word. Jason reminds himself to talk to him about his tendency to run away from problems, but knows that now isn’t the appropriate time. He needs time to think.

He thinks back to the multiple times he’s seen Nico using his pen. He honestly hasn’t seen him use it other than to jot down notes, which Jason supposes must have been names manifesting in the shadows. It looks ordinary. It looks so ordinary that Jason has to strain to remember exactly what went down in the little notebook Nico carries around. It flits from his memory, and it feels like he’s chasing smoke.

He sits there, surrounded by books in a shop he’s only frequented for a few months, and feels like a stranger.

Jason returns to the bookshop the next day, determined to make sure Nico knows that Jason isn’t going to avoid him because of something that is frankly more believable than it should be. Jason isn’t sure why, but he doesn’t question Nico’s statements at all. It just seems like the truth, and as Jason had said, he is a very open minded individual.

He finds Nico sitting on the cashier counter once again, wearing that silly name tag and drinking from a coffee mug. (Jason knows it’s filled with a chocolate milkshake.) He’s reading, and Jason leans down and tilts the book up to get a look at the cover.

Nico starts, looks down, then promptly falls backwards off the counter. His legs flail wildly, and Jason has to grab him by the thighs to stop him smashing his head open on the floor or, alternatively, on the corner of the chair.

“Let me go!” Nico shrieks, and Jason ignores him in favour of reaching forward to tug him back up onto the relative safety of the counter. “Get off!”

Jason backs away, holding his hands out in a peacekeeping gesture before Nico manages to restore some of his usual calm demeanour. He’s flushed, and embarrassed, but thankfully the books hidden behind the counter aren’t splattered with his brains.

(Yes, Jason is not good with priorities, we have established this already, moving on.)

“You okay?” Jason asks, legitimately concerned, but Nico just flushes and nods.

“I’m fine. Please don’t touch me.”

“Alright. Hey, listen, I have a question.”

Nico eyes him suspiciously. “Okay.”

“How did you know you were a wordsmith? Like, were there any signs or symptoms or… that was totally the wrong word to use, I’m sorry.” Jason rubs a hand over his face and tries again. “What did you notice?”

Nico shrugs, a laconic movement that seems to run through his entire body. “I don’t know. Pens kept on acting up, I began thinking about people dying a lot. Whenever my father read the obituaries in the paper I always knew just a little bit too much about what had happened from the text. Little things.”

Jason nods slowly. “And do you know anyone else like you?”

Nico takes a shaky breath and exhales in a long sigh. “Yes. A friend from a long time ago. He had a pen, like mine, but his had a name and a story. It turned into a sword when he uncapped it. His girlfriend,” Nico says that word oddly, as though he’s practiced saying it for this exact purpose, “was also a wordsmith, but she was much cleverer than either of us. Her pen was ordinary, and worked just like any other pen, but it could also draw out of the paper, like a direct link from her mind to the drawing. I don’t know what either of them is doing now; I lost contact years ago.”

“So,” Jason says slowly, “if, for example, you constantly kept getting shocked by appliances, and whenever you gave people writing utensils they got static shocks too, would that be out of the ordinary?”

Nico narrows his eyes and regards Jason with subtle intelligence. (It makes sense to Jason, shut up.) “What are you saying?”

“Give me a pen,” Jason asks, and Nico does, pulling one from the drawer of the register.

Jason fiddles with it, rubbing it between his palms briskly, before passing it back to Nico. The second the other boy’s hand touches it, he jerks visibly and pulls away.

“That’s…” Nico stares. “That’s not possible.” He pushes the pen towards Jason again. “Try something else.”

Jason frowns. Almost by instinct, he lifts the pen and places it on the air as if putting it on a shelf. He lets go, and miraculously it hovers there, stable as it would have been sitting on wood.

“I don’t understand,” Nico says. “That’s not electrical at all.”

“Maybe it hasn’t got anything to do with electricity,” Jason suggests, thinking deeply. “It could be something different. I don’t know. I didn’t even know I could do this before.”

“I only noticed because Bianca could do it and so could my father,” Nico says. “Do you…?”

“My family? I don’t know. My mum’s been missing for a long time and I don’t see much of my dad. My sister…” Jason thinks back to Thalia. “She was similar. I know she used to think giving people static shocks was the funniest thing ever, if that helps.”

“It could be genetic, then,” Nico says. “Your mum or your dad had it, then they passed it to you and your sister. And the Shock Debacle!”

How could Jason forget about the Shock Debacle? He didn’t even understand it then, but it makes sense. “You’re probably right. But… I don’t have any particular pen that’s special to me. I mean, Dad’s never given me anything in his life and I haven’t seen Mum since I was two.”

Nico shrugs. “Do you ever use a pen to write with? Anything that makes words can be the tool of a wordsmith. I’ve heard that there are wordsmiths out there who can even use their voice as their tool; just by talking they can work miracles.”

Jason doesn’t doubt it. He dated Piper McLean, who was and still is the most persuasive, charming and motivating person he’s ever met. Listening to Piper talk feels like an honour.

“I don’t know,” Jason says. “This is… a bit of a shock.”

Nico stares at Jason.

Jason stares back.

“Did you just…?”

Jason stares back.

“Oh my god, you are such a dork.” Nico shakes his head and slides off the counter, putting down his mug and hiding a smile. Jason smirks widely.

He’s about to comment when an idea hits him. “Hey, Nico, is Hazel a wordsmith too?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Nico says, “that it’s my place to tell you.”

He leaves it at that.

He returns to Nico’s bookshop (it’s funny how he now thinks of it as Nico’s) on Thursday afternoon just as Hazel is coming out of the door. Nico places a kiss on her forehead, waves her off, and notices Jason. With a roll of his eyes he holds the door open, glaring up at the bell for jangling unnecessarily.

They don’t speak, not today, but instead Nico hands Jason a pile of new fantasy novels. Jason falls into them like nothing else exists, and barely even hears Nico’s quiet chuckle as the dark haired boy moves away.

Nico comes back ten minutes later with Jason’s coffee mug (it has a teddy bear on it) and passes it to him. Their fingers brush, like a whisper on a cold breeze, but Jason can feel it all the way up his arm and towards his chest. They both hesitate, before Nico pulls away abruptly and mutters something about books and the other customers.

Time ticks away, and Jason vaguely observes out of the corner of his eye that Nico is constantly refilling his coffee mug, although this time it is with actual coffee, which is so surprising that the first time Jason takes a drink he nearly chokes because he was not expecting that.

It’s strange. Nico is… he’s affectionate the way a porcupine is affectionate, if porcupines can even be affectionate. He’s kind and sweet, but he avoids attention and prefers doing things for people when they can’t thank him for it. He’s also prickly and difficult to hug.

Not that Jason has been looking for a reason to hug him. He just thinks the kid could do with some physical contact beyond his sister and occasional rescue missions from treacherous cashier counters.

What?

It’s quiet, as Jason is the only one left in the shop when six o’clock rolls around, and eventually Nico sidles up to him and says, “Do you know what time it is?”

Jason looks at his watch. “Time to go?”

“Time to go,” Nico confirms. He looks down at the books that Jason has hoarded. “Are you going to get all of those or leave some for next time?”

Jason looks down at them and picks two. See, he can prioritise. “Just these, I think.”

He has an idea just as he’s passing Nico a fifty. “Hey, do you want to go get something to eat?”

Nico frowns up at him. “Why? I already had lunch.”

“It’s nearly dinner. You can shut up for an hour to go get some food.”

Nico looks reluctant. He quickly prints Jason’s receipt, then goes back to fiddling with his pen. Jason’s beginning to recognise it as a nervous twitch. “I don’t know. Persephone won’t be happy.”

“She won’t mind, I’m sure. Come on, dude. I’m starving.”

“But what if…” Nico flushes then shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. I’m okay.”

“What if what?” Jason frowns. “Is something wrong? Did I do something?”

“What? No! No, you didn’t do anything! It’s just… what if people think we’re… you know…”

“Gay?” Jason says dryly. “Does it matter?”

Fiddling intensifies. “Yes, it matters.”

Jason watches Nico, surveying the way his eyes dart around the room and his posture draws inward. Nico bites his lip and glances up to meet Jason’s eyes, before looking away and glaring at the floor.

“Nico,” Jason says slowly, “it’s okay if you’re gay, you know that, right? This is the twenty-first century.”

Nico’s eyes blow wide. “What – ”

“It’s kind of obvious. Don’t worry. You are who you are, and you’re a great person and a better friend, and that’s fantastic.”

Nico freezes, and for a second, Jason worries that he broke him. Can you break a person? He hopes not.

“You don’t…” Nico pauses, licking his lips, and Jason realises that this might not be the best time to start actually addressing the question of how much he likes Nico. “You don’t think it’s… weird?”

“I don’t think it’s weird at all. Some people do, but they’re narrow minded morons. I told you I was open minded, didn’t I?” Jason winks. “I wouldn’t lie to you. Now come on, let’s go eat. Coffee does not equal lunch and I’m hungry, so it’s my treat.”

“But – ”

Jason gives Nico a reassuring smile, and he caves. “Alright. Let me get my jacket.”

Jason has never actually seen Nico wearing the old aviator jacket. It’s pretty much just furniture in his mind; a backdrop to a boy running a bookshop, not an article of clothing that Nico actually wears. It makes him look almost healthy, as it hides how skinny the kid is and makes him bulk out a little, although admittedly his legs still look like matchsticks. C’est la vie.

They end up eating brownies for dinner because Jason’s favourite bakery is literally a block away and the Mexican place is shut. Nico doesn’t look at all disappointed; he just eats his brownie, eats Jason’s too, and gets another.

“I’m guessing you like brownies.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Nico asks dryly. He licks his fingers, and shit Jason isn’t thinking anymore nope nope nope

He must have said something vaguely appropriate, as Nico smiles widely and opens his mouth to respond; but then he shuts it abruptly, shoves a hand into his jacket, and pulls out his notebook.

His pen is a blur of movement, writing name after name onto the little pages, and Jason can feel a headache edging through the back of his skull as the shadowy words destroy his eyeballs. (Okay, he’s exaggerating a little bit. It still hurts.)

“Nico?” he asks, but Nico doesn’t respond, just keeps writing at a feverish pace. Something awful must have happened, for this many people to die and demand Nico’s words. “Shit, Nico?”

He doesn’t know what to do. Jason has lived twenty-one years and never in all those years has he been at so much of a loss. Should he try and get Nico’s attention or will that only hurt him?

Nico’s hand is trembling, and the pages flip with frightening alacrity. Jason notices that Nico almost looks like he’s about to cry; he’s writing fragments of sentences now, short adjectives that must describe what happened to the victims of whatever this catastrophe is.

That flips the switch. Jason’s going to get Nico out of this.

He tries talking to him, but Nico just writes faster, as though there is an internal clock ticking in his brain to when he won’t be able to write or record anything. He tries touching him, shaking him, but Nico’s usual personal space issues seem to have disappeared. He even tries to wrest control of the pen away from him, but Nico’s stronger than he looks.

Finally, he pulls a lucky coin that Thalia made for him a bazillion years ago from his pocket, clenches it in one fist by instinct, then touches Nico on the shoulder with his other hand.

The effect is immediate. Nico freezes, jolts, then drops the pen and notebook on the ground. They fall with an anticlimactic clatter.

Jason can feel the static racing through his arm, but it doesn’t bother him. He drops the coin, grasps Nico by both shoulders, and grounds him, turning his face with a finger so that Nico is looking at him straight in the eyes. 

“Nico,” he says slowly. “Are you alright? Can you hear me?”

Nico is breathing heavily, great shudders that run through his entire frame. One of his hands shoots up and latches onto Jason’s wrist, his grip tight, almost worryingly so.

“Nico.”

“Jason,” Nico manages. He draws in a deep breath, closing his eyes and evening out his breathing to match Jason’s. Jason can’t help but frown; if Nico knows to do this, either he’s exceptionally clever, or this has happened before.

“Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?”

“I’m… I’m fine.” He brushes Jason off, weaving on his feet.

Jason lets him be. “Alright. But I’m right here, so if anything – ”

“I know!” Nico snaps. “Stop acting like my mum, okay?!”

It hurts, and it must show on Jason’s face as Nico immediately looks contrite and tired and sad. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. It’s just – ”

“You’ve had a shock, it’s okay.” Jason wraps an arm around Nico’s shoulders, and surprisingly, Nico leans into the touch. 

“I’ve got to get back to the shop,” Nico says in a quiet but insistent voice. “Something’s wrong.”

“Alright.” Jason leads the way, manoeuvring Nico between pedestrians yet still managing to keep a hold on him at all times.

Suddenly Nico stiffens, then dashes forward, running down the pavement like a man possessed. Jason swears, then races after him, but while he is catching up it isn’t happening quickly.

Then he realises why.

There’s smoke, and the sound of sirens, and a blaze of fire coming from a block away.

As they round the corner, Jason feels the urge to grab Nico, to draw him away from the sight that’s going to be burnt into his brain. He wants to protect Nico, but that’s not his place, because Nico doesn’t like it when people try to protect him. If there’s anything Jason has noticed in the months that they’ve known each other, it’s that Nico di Angelo does not ask for help, and Nico di Angelo does not need anyone protecting him.

But sometimes he does need someone to support him.

Nico sticks to Jason like a limpet from then on. He’s a wreck, alternating between staring at the ruin where Sedha Books used to be and crying silently on the pavement. Jason doesn’t know what to do. It feels like the carpet has been ripped from underneath him, but the floor has termites and is brittle and fragile and likely to collapse at any given moment. So he just sits down next to Nico and rubs his back, hoping that the meagre effort at comfort will sooth some of the emotional storm.

“It turns out there was an extremist attack in Spain twenty minutes ago,” Nico says dully. “Some arsonist planted bombs in a series of buildings and set fire to them. Thousands of people were killed.”

“You don’t think that had something to do with the bookshop burning down, do you?” Jason asks incredulously.

“I don’t know what to think,” says Nico, and closes his eyes and rests his head between his knees. He looks positively ill.

Jason’s phone chooses that moment to ring, loudly and obnoxiously.

“Hello, Jason Grace,” he says, words tinged with irritation but otherwise level.

“Jason,” says an eerily familiar voice.

“Dad?” Jason almost isn’t sure he guessed right, when his dad (his dad?!) chuckles and replies.

“Yes, Jason. Now, this is very important. I need you to come back home.”

Jason blinks. “What?”

He hasn’t seen hide nor hair of his dad in years. He could be dead and Jason would never be the wiser. How the hell did he even get Jason’s phone number, anyway?

“You need to – ”

“No.” The answer drops from Jason’s lips without him realising, but once it’s out there he can’t deny that it’s true.

“I’m sorry?” His dad sounds thunderous.

“No, I’m not coming back home. I can’t even remember where home is. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I have a lot of things going on at the moment and I can’t drop them without long term notice. I’m sorry.”

He hangs up.

Nico looks up at him. His eyelashes are dark from tears, and his eyes are red rimmed, but for some reason Jason just really wants to either kiss him until he can’t remember anything about books or fire or shops, or wrap him up in a blanket burrito and watch Disney movies and call Hazel.

Actually, he probably should.

“We should call Hazel,” Jason says, and Nico shudders.

“I don’t want to,” he confesses quietly. “I don’t want to tell her I screwed up again.”

“Hey.” Jason draws Nico’s chin up, and he doesn’t miss the way Nico bites his lip and looks away. “Nico, look at me. It wasn’t your fault. Someone probably just left a cigarette in the wrong place or something. You didn’t do anything deliberately, and it’s not your fault.”

“To storm or fire the world must fall,” Nico mutters, and it sounds depressing enough without Jason understanding it.

“Pardon?”

“It’s something Mother used to say, a long time ago.” Nico hides behind his hair. “My world fell to fire.”

Jason can’t help but draw Nico in, and the other boy clutches his shirt and sobs like a child.

They don’t talk about anything else. Jason doesn’t want to leave Nico alone, and Nico isn’t showing any signs of letting circulation return to Jason’s arm (It’s funny how physically demanding Nico can be, despite his preference for non-physical affection.) so Jason offers him the couch in his apartment for the night. Nico accepts gratefully, not even bothering to grab anything from his own apartment; he just lets Jason show him the way and then collapses onto the couch bonelessly. Jason drapes a blanket over him, brushes his hair back, and wishes him good night.

Perhaps he isn’t so bad with priorities after all.

At maybe three o’clock in the morning Jason wakes, hearing the quiet creak of a door open. Nico is silhouetted in the dim light, looking small and nervous, so Jason just rolls over to face him and beckons.

Nico burrows under the covers like a cat, curling up to Jason as if Jason is just a giant hot water bottle, which is fair. 

“Who was that on the phone, before?” Nico asks in a sleepy voice, but his eyes are wide awake, inches from Jason’s own.

“My dad. He wanted me to come back home for some reason. I said no.”

“Why?”

“I’m tired of being dutiful,” Jason says honestly, running a hand through his hair and stretching against the mattress. “I’m tired of being the golden boy. I don’t want to have to be the perfect Grace, not even for my dad. I just want to be the guy who plays sport and reads fantasy and likes chili sauce on his onion rings.”

Nico’s eyebrows furrow. “But what if it’s important?”

“It would have to be more important than you, and right now there’s not a lot that is.” Jason smiles fondly as Nico buries his head in the pillow to escape his gaze.

“You can’t just say stuff like that,” he says, voice muffled. 

“Why not?”

Nico groans and rolls over so he’s on his back, glaring up at the ceiling. “Because I have a list of ‘straight boys I’ve fallen for’ and I need your friendship too much to add you to it,” he bites out, and Jason is 100% sure that if Nico hadn’t just lost his bookshop and it wasn’t 2am in the morning, those words would never have left his lips.

“And your list of bi boys you’ve fallen for?” Jason asks. “Is there a space on that one?”

Nico freezes. Jason can literally feel him tensing up next to him, and turns to face him properly.

“What?” Nico croaks.

“I would really like to kiss you right now,” says Jason. “Unless you have a problem with that.”

Judging by the fervour of the ensuing kiss, Nico doesn’t have a problem with that at all.

The next morning, Jason wakes to Nico curled up around his torso, hands fisted in his t-shirt and breaths causing a few stray locks to twitch with every exhale. He shifts as Jason does, blinking his eyes and trying to focus on Jason. It doesn’t look like Nico is a morning person.

“Good morning,” Jason says quietly. Nico just smiles lazily, a carefree and gentle expression that makes him look absolutely adorable. (Not that Jason is ever going to tell him that.)

“Hello,” he says. That seems to be the extent of his vocabulary, as he promptly rolls over and goes back to dozing. Jason just laughs softly, gets up, and gets ready to go to one of his morning classes. He kisses Nico before he goes, revelling in the fact that he can do that, and slips out the door.

On the way back from class he passes by one of his favourite parks, and notices a group of kids carving either a) initials or b) swear words onto the bark of the trees. He smiles, then stops. He’s got an idea.

He rummages through his pockets and finds his Swiss Army knife, and old gift from Thalia for his birthday a few years ago. He runs his finger over the blade to check the sharpness, then kneels down and begins to painstakingly engrave a word into the bark.

Just as he’s finishing the final hook on the end of ‘lightning’, there’s a flash, and he looks down to see tiny bolts shooting out from the bark of the tree. It’s a miniature light show all on its own; complete with darkening clouds and menacing rumbles of thunder.

Suspicions proven correct, he heads home again, taking care to cross out his words before leaving.

Nico is still in the apartment when he gets back, sitting on the sofa with a newspaper and his pen. He has the crossword out, and words practically fall off the pen in their eagerness to reach the sheet.

“Isn’t that cheating?” Jason asks.

“They don’t give you rules,” says Nico, “so no, not technically.”

“I figured some things out.” Jason fixes himself a sandwich and grabs an apple. He likes to keep a healthy diet to balance out all of Nico’s milkshakes. “It took a bit of thinking, but I think I know what form of writing my thing takes.”

“Your thing?” Nico asks.

“Yeah, you know what I mean.” Jason takes out the lucky coin from Thalia and shows it to Nico. “I used this to shock you back yesterday. I think my ‘wordsmithing’ powers come from engraving.”

“Engraving?” Nico turns the coin over in his fingers, thinking deeply. “I suppose that makes sense. It’s a form of writing, and it suits you. I don’t suppose you have a chisel anywhere?”

Jason smirks and rolls his eyes. “No. Anyway, I think I’ve also figured out the connection between electricity and being able to float things in mid-air.” A thunderous voice. A clouded gaze. “Thunderstorms. The sky. Electricity, gravity; it makes sense.”

Nico stares at Jason openly and unabashedly. “Storms.”

“What?”

A smile spreads across Nico’s face, and it makes Jason want to kiss him. It’s funny how that’s really the only thing he can think around Nico. “To storm or fire the world must fall. It fell to fire, and I fell to storm.”

Jason may be a wordsmith, but there’s nothing he can say to that, so he just pulls Nico in and lets him know of his affection in other ways. After all, what’s the famous phrase?

(Actions speak louder than words.)

**Author's Note:**

> My life is a constant war between Jasiper and Jasico and this is the latter. This should probably be formatted better but I like it like this.  
> Edit: someone recced this on tumblr do you kNOW HOW LOUD I SCREAMED


End file.
